


Like Wine

by valammar



Series: After the End [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Antiva, Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Love, Love Confessions, Optimism, Post-Canon, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 08:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12503180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valammar/pseuds/valammar
Summary: Josephine and Assan retire to a run-down Antivan vineyard together.





	Like Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Depression is rearing its ugly head again so I needed to heal my soul with pure fluff. I missed these two so much.

_Wizened_.

If there was a word that danced on Josephine's tongue of late, it was that. The first thing they noticed about the vineyard was that it looked well-worn. _Wizened_. Molded by an ancient history that nourished the ground beneath its surface. The decimate dirt and sun-dried soil conjured images of once-idyllic hills punctuated by the pounding hooves of cattle and sheep. The air carried the saltiness of olive barrels, stuffed full from a ripe and juicy harvest, as well as the camaraderie of civilization from Rialto Bay below.

Antivan locals considered the earth under her feet cursed. The olive groves and grapevines had long since withered after vintners tried and failed to make anything grow; yet she dedicated decades of her life to the knowledge of her homeland's signature brand of hedonism. If there was a will, there was a wine. It may take years before they produced a profitable crop, but they could make something of the land and themselves here, high above it all.

Due to its poor reputation, it proved easy to obtain the deed. Josephine used her silver tongue to persuade the county clerk to bequeath it to the former Inquisitor for a modest sum as a gesture of good relations. She clutched the paperwork under her arm, a heavy vellum finished with a crimson red seal.

"Welcome home, my love," she said.

Assan waded next to her, cyan eyes scanning the landscape. Behind them, workers filed into the manor house with the trunks of souvenirs they'd purchased on their travels: jewel colored scarves and plump dates from Rivain; a hand-carved ironbark bench from their extended stay with Clan Lavellan; a decadent chaise lounge found in a Minrathous market. They bought the latter purely because Assan took immense delight in the words _Tevene velveteen_. That, and the scornful look on the merchant's face transitioned to one of satisfying supplication when the elven woman revealed herself to be the great savior of Thedas.

"Home," she said, her voice raspy. Josephine would never forget watching the Mark turn on her. The vile green glow had once been a symbol of peace and power, but inevitably represented nothing but a bitter end. It consumed her in pieces, her anguished screams tearing her throat. Until mercifully, Cassandra's swift blade put an end to it. "How exciting."

In the years since the Inquisition disbanded, Assan had transformed from plucky to plaintive, carrying herself with an unfamiliar solemnity. On their travels, her childlike wonder dissolved into something worldly and sage. _Wizened_. Again, that word whirled its way through the eddies of her thoughts at the sight of her lover's laughter lines.

"Have you hired staff to help us fix the place?" Assan asked.

"Why, whoever do you take me for? In a town where seafaring is the only available source of income, there were few options for tradesman and the motion sick. We've an eager selection of villagers who have already sanitized the well and installed a most luxurious bathtub." Lightly dusted with vineyard soil, Josephine dreamt of the opportunity to break it in amongst imported oils, soap cakes, and the scent of home all around her.

Indeed, never again will she reside in a mountain fortress in the frigid south.

"I've grown elfroot in the Skyhold garden, but never done anything like this. I can't wait to see what we can do."

"The ground has had the opportunity to rest. It's fertile, and primed for a new venture. Are _you_?"

"I don't know, Josie," Assan said. "I stood up to an Elven god and lived to tell the tale, but winemaking? Sounds pretty risky."

She spoke in jest, Josephine knew that, but she noted when Assan cast an adroit gaze to the horizon. Nearly eight years have gone by since the qunari invasion at Halamshiral and they found nothing. Not a trace of Solas could be tracked. He was still out there, plotting his next move. She knew Assan feared for the future of her people under his guise.

 _No_ , she insisted, they couldn't think of that right now—not when they had so much to celebrate.

"I do assure you, my love, that the fruits of our labor will be worth it," said Josephine.

Assan reached a slender arm around Josephine's waist in a tender embrace. The two of them eyed their new home with its saffron tiled roof and cobblestone walls. "Then I'm ready if you are, but I do have one question."

"Of course," she said.

"You mentioned a new bathtub? I've got grit where the sun don't shine."

The copper basin was sumptuous, and she had to credit the craftsman who gifted it. In time, the plentiful seeds they purchased on their Rivaini tour would blossom in the moist heat and fill the wash room with fragrant jasmine and gardenia.

Josephine clung to her in quiet moments, as if some new threat would spawn and inexorably steal her away again. Assan endured her affection with an amused mien, leaning forward so Josephine could finish scrubbing the dust from her skin.

In time, Josephine reluctantly rendered the sponge and they traded places.

“You have _so much hair_ ,” Assan said, chuckling softly while she tried to lather her thick, weighty locks with one hand. “How does your neck not get tired?”

“Jealous, my love?” she teased, her voice haughty.

“No,” she said before dunking Josephine’s head underwater. She emerged laughing, pulling the heavy curtain of hair from her eyes and sputtering sudsy droplets. Then she dipped her head below once more to rinse properly.

“I think you are lying,” Josephine teased. She settled her back against the opposite end of the basin and invited Assan over. She obliged, settling her lithe frame between Josephine's legs. They basked in silence while Josephine imagined a future of grapevines tapering the hillside like verdant steps.

"Josie?" Assan asked.

"Hm?"

"When did you know?"

She hummed in thought and placed a soft kiss on the top of Assan's wispy blond head. With as many questions as her lover asked over the years, she'd never presented her with this one.

"Do you recall your most courageous duel with my former fiance in my honor?"

"We were quite the talk of Val Royeaux the following social season for that one. So it was then?"

"No," she shook her head. "I believe it was all the way back at Haven."

Assan peered up to face her. "Really? That soon?"

"You were so curious—"

"Would you say I was 'inquisitive?'" She squeaked when Josephine pinched her sides.

"As I was saying: you approached every new opportunity with," she pondered the words, "an intense vigor. You had no reason to trust us and yet when we implored your help for the Inquisition, you were only eager to exist."

"So I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed," she said. "What's that got to do with falling in love with me?"

"Would you like to hear the rest of the story or not?" Josephine admonished.

"Sorry. Yes, please."

"The daggers of gossip never pierced your ambition. Off you went to the far-flung regions of Ferelden and Orlais, gaining the trust of humans and elves alike. What did the reports say of the Dalish Herald? That she was _amicable_. A part of me, I think, felt a kinship. You reminded me of myself.

"One day, you met me in my office—that infernal ice chamber—and asked me everything you could think of about Antiva. You were fascinated by my family's silly stories, the weather, the harbor and even the politics." She remembered what she looked like then: windswept pale hair like duck fluff, her rogue armor twinkling in the candlelight, small feet caked in mountain mud. "Then, you smiled widely and said that you'd love to visit someday. I didn't realize it at the time, but I think from that point I knew my life would never be the same."

"Wait, that's it?" Assan said, craning her neck to face her. "Something so simple and you knew?"

Josephine angled her head to meet her gaze. "I could think of a thousand and one moments when I fell for you, my love, though that is the memory that burns the brightest. What about you?"

"Me?" Her voice was coy as her finger playfully traced Josephine's knee. "Hard to say. I think I'm still mulling it over."

"Oh, you little brat!" Josephine laughed, palming the water and splashing Assan's face.

Then, she leaned down and their lips met.

"We did make it to Antiva," Assan said when they broke their kiss.

Antiva, and beyond. Their sabbatical sent them to every region they could dream of: the volcanic plains of the Anderfels, Orzammar, with special permission, and the lush tropics of Rivain. Though first, they paid a visit to Josephine's family who took to the energetic elf with equal vim.

"We did. Are you prepared to experience the life of a Montilyet full-time?"

Assan smiled, slightly smug. "Asking if I'm finally ready to settle down?"

"I think it's time someone made an honest woman of you," she jested.

"For me, home isn't a place." Assan turned to slide into her lap.  Josephine adjusted, welcoming her. The room was silent save for the movement of water around them. She looked ethereal in the low light and rising steam, strikingly dream-like.

"I love you, Josie," she said. "Wherever you want to be is wherever I'm happiest." Assan leaned down to kiss her in earnest, and it burned at the edges of her soul like a white-hot flame that made the bathwater grow comparatively cold.

"And I love you, too."

For a moment Josephine caught a glimpse of Assan's old brand of mischief, glinting like the point of an arrow. "What do you say we break in that new mattress we bought in Tantervale?"

"I don't know, my love. We lack the proper tools. Perhaps we should wait until we've made a proper bottle to christen it?"

"It's a bed, not a boat! And I want you in it. Now."

Josephine had to admit, languishing on feather-down was far more spacious and comfortable than crowding in the tub. Afterward they laid together, basking in the damp coolness of dusk on their fevered flesh. Assan cradled her tenderly, stroking her fingers along her spine.

“You’re beautiful,” Assan said against her temple before planting a kiss there.

“Mmm,” she responded. She felt softened and sated, her vision blurred with pleasure. The wind outside fluttered through the tall grass like insistent whispers. She nearly succumbed to the embrace of sleep when she felt the recognizable sensation of Assan’s eyes on her.

“You are staring again, my love,” her voice a murmur.

“I can’t help it.”

The wind grew louder, carrying the promise of a pink sunrise. Together, they’d till the soil and build a new life from nothing. They’d done it before when they were younger. Josephine knew they could do it again.   


End file.
